I did lose my magnificent beard and eyebrows in the early planning and testing stages. We are looking for a stronger effect, which I think I have now isolated. The volume required for concealment is much smaller, and the blast would remove more than just facial hair. A lot more.
I would say our chances are between really outstanding and superlative. I don’t really have any idea, but let’s focus on the positive, and perhaps the fates will too.
[At noon, the day after Admiral Pandora’s deadline, any radio tuned to the frequency begins delivering a new message. The cadence and enunciation are the same as before, but the affected accent has changed slightly.]
My good friends, this is the Voice of Weatherby, bringing a message of truth.
I am sure that the lies printed in the latest Sea Teas Flibbertigibbet are just that - lies. Go to the Weatherby Free Public Library, and read the second issue of the paper, where it accuses its own first issue of having been written by a “New Prussian Agent Provocateur.” That must have happened again, since a paper edited by such a prominent officer in Her Majesty’s Royal Space Hussars would never print such treason willingly. Take the words of Ms. Jean-Rhys Rodchaser from that second issue to heart, and view this as New Prussian Agents “swamping the popular media with messages of discord” once again. They seek to divide us; don’t let them succeed.
Now, as Admiral Pandora’s deadline has past, you have probably seen the skies begin to light up with the battle overhead. My friends, we need to prepare two welcome parties: one for the New Prussian troops come to occupy our land, and one for the Queen’s rescue mission, already on its way. For the Prussians and their König, keep your fireworks ready; the party we throw them will be a blast. And, for the Queen’s party, she’ll be heartbroken if we have any fireworks left, so let’s set aside some Champagne for her and for the victory party.
The New Prussians only have the power to harm our bodies; they have no power over our own actions. So, for victory, all we must do is stay strong, stay loyal, and keep hope alive. Britannia Prime will not let us down; we must do the same for them.
Long live Weatherby, and long live the Queen!
[With that, the channel again goes silent]
[ Rounder enters his apartment, preparing to pack a bag and head for the front with the rest of the Hussars. He finds a small package waiting for him by the front door. He recognizes the handwriting, and hastily opens the wrappings, finding a letter and a small box inside. ]
Well, I’ll be…
So that’s how he did it… Hmmmmm.
Liv stares at the mirror. He barely recognises himself, and he’s known this face for decades. Any extra weight and softness he might have put on during his Leviathan days is gone. A Farnsworth or Hartbrooke might have write something poetic, about missing then rediscovering the peace of mind and strength that only hard work could bring. Liv can’t do that. Because it’s pure, refined, bullshit. What he misses is the ability to drift off to sleep in a real bed versus the all-too-familar dropping from sheer exhaustion onto the nearest bed-like surface.
Weatherby is in chaos. It doesn’t make him happy that he predicted this. But we take advantage of what little breaks we get.
He’s also heard of a desperate spinning by someone to discredit certain accusations, seemingly unaware that everyone who’s tried the “fake news” gambit has turned out to ultimately be guilty. That little factoid needs to make it out to the population… And who do you trust more? Some faceless voice on the radio, or Bob down at t’pub, an’ Bob knows people. Y’know, people. And Bob says that it’s true.
And while that’s percolating, he’s got a lot of other things to get organised.
Eudaemonia sits on the edge of her cot, restlessly polishing the already-gleaming stock of her flamethrower. Her nerves wouldn’t let her sleep yet. And she wasn’t alone; many of the other Hussars in the barracks were either engaging in their own equipment maintenance, or tossing and turning in their bunks. Battle with New Prussia’s ground forces could come at any time now. And despite the innumerable drills and training exercises, it was only too easy to feel… unprepared.
But it was not only for herself that she feared. Her husband and children were sheltering in their city apartment, unable to retreat to Bedlam’s Bower. Once the bombardment started, they would be in perhaps worse danger than she was; Eudaemonia could at least attempt to defend herself in the upcoming battle. She sent yet another fervent prayer to whatever gods might listen that her family would survive, even if she did not.
And how many famiies, she mused, were praying the same prayer at that moment? Whether True Citizen or Citizen Pretender, soldier or civilian, everyone in Weatherby was facing the grim specter of war and loss.
But, barring some strange miracle, there was no alternative to it. New Prussia was foolish to think that Weatherby would roll over and surrender. No, they would fight for their pride, their families, their freedom.
She only hopes that victory will not come at too dear a cost.
Enough of that, woman, she chides herself. Be strong and confident. Sides adsit amicum. “Let my propitious star be present.”
Her family motto firmly held to mind, she sets aside her weapons and settles down to rest. The hour of battle would come soon enough; she would be ready for it.
